Archive of Our Own ^beta

Sometimes, in between being constantly kidnapped, constantly getting between mobsters and their turf wars, deals, illegal activities, pissing competitions to see who’s manlier, trying to hold onto his job as a reporting photographer and being a live in house-boyfriend, Akihito forgets that Asami has a torture chamber that’s a scant few wooden beams and thin boards away from exploding into his lap again.

And that’s exactly what happened.

He’d attempted, once more, to clean the wooden floors, trying to remove a particularly stubborn stain, curtesy of a limited edition purple fruit punch soda syrup that had spilled when he’d carried it from the kitchen to the tv.

Whatever chemical inside had entirely dyed the wooden floorboards and Akihito had been on his knees for ages, trying every cleaning product he could afford, to try and wipe it without further damaging the wood.

At some point, tired, though not defeated, he leaned against the wall for a break. His elbow connected with one panel, and suddenly, the wall he was using as support, disappeared, sliding to one side and letting him free fall backwards into a new open space.

Even upside down, he knows this isn’t the same room with the bondage gear and its selection of gags. He gulped because, this room had a chair with stirrups, medical supplies, but was definitely not equipped to treat anyone, judging by the fact there was a nurse’s outfit hanging in the corner, that was not practical for work.

He also couldn’t recall a single doctor he’d visited, who had a collection of sounds displayed in an open case.

Akihito remembers the last time Asami plugged his cock, and shudders, feeling the twitch in his briefs. The constant ache because his slit was gaping, the hiss of pain the first few times he went to the bathroom, but most of all, the distraction of feeling like something was still there, lodged inside, had driven him bonkers.

And Asami had been relentless with his touches, with making sure Akihito never forgot that at some point, he’d held a thin metal rod inside him, making it impossible for him to come, reminding him that Asami owned his body, that he belonged to him. He’d felt that orgasm from the inside out, igniting from within and going on and on and on, even when Asami had finally pulled the sound out, and Akihito’s cum spurted forth, a steady leaking stream, painting the inside of his thighs sticky.

His thumb is over the little slit, rubbing it, phantom ache taking over as the memories rush in and he bites down on this other hand, trying to keep his whimpers down while he continues to tease himself and curse Asami for turning him into pervert who enjoys weird sex play.

“Asami you bastard!”

A palm closes over his hand and Akihiko groans in frustration because he recognizes the steady, sure grip and it spells a punishment or denial, neither of which he wanted.

“Who’s a bastard? Were you feeling left out Akihito?”

He shakes his head, explaining will only mean being further teased. He doesn’t need to though, he was caught jacking off in front of the bag of sounds, playing with his slit and only an idiot wouldn’t put two and two together. And Asami is no idiot.

Teeth on his neck, and Asami’s clothed cock nestled into his ass and more importantly, Asami’s fingers squeezing just the tip until it’s gaping, a little ‘o’ while Akihito shakes in anticipation, and what comes next is not what he expects.

Asami’s pinky rubs the hole and attempts to push inside. Akihito moans, overwhelmed, horny and at that point where he’d already been close to letting go, and now he can’t take it, the suspense, the little burn, and the anxious knot in his belly on whether this is real, and will Asami actually fit his pinky inside, and he catches the very edge of it dipping inside him.

He comes like a geyser, spraying all around the finger, come coating Asami’s palm as Akihito spasms with the force of his orgasm.

In the back of his mind, he’s won, he’s managed to get his orgasm out before Asami could tease him mercilessly.

But the glint in Asami’s eyes, which is directed towards the stirrups, tells him the night’s barely started.